


Ablaze

by Nopepng



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, And yes I spelled Akaashi wrong there and what about it, Blood, Body Horror, Fire, Fire Magic, I guess????, It will probably get pretty dark and angsty tho be prepared, Knight!bokuto, M/M, Mild Gore, Possible Character Death, Shaman!akaahsi, Will add tags as I go, i guess?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:14:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24817426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nopepng/pseuds/Nopepng
Summary: When there's nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

  
  


Being a knight came with a lot of benefits. 

People respected knights. Looked up to them, even. The pay was good, and beating people up for a living was more fun than it sounded. It wasn't like you actually went out killing dragons – no, a member of the King's Guard was really just more expensive decoration that every now and then got to beat up some poor guys in tournaments. That the king himself bowed down to him in adoration, ready to kiss his armor-clad feet whenever he wanted him to, was just a bonus. 

Well, technically, he was almost sure that wasn't part of being a knight; not even of being a member of the King's Guard. He could figure as much, by watching the other knights interacting with the king. He would have expected them to hate him for it, to resent him, maybe even stab him in the back one day when he wasn't paying attention – but they didn't. No one ever did anything. 

Except if he asked. 

His parents had told him about it when he'd been nothing more than a little brat. That they had 'asked the gods for their blessings', and that they – or he – had received them. That no matter what he wanted in life, he would get it. No matter how, no matter when. 

He could quite literally ask the king to make love to a horse and the king would gladly abide. 

Now, that came with quite a few benefits, too. 

He'd wanted to learn how to read and write, something poor kids like him normally never got the chance to – and one of the city's few private teachers agreed to teach him for free. He'd been absolutely horrible at everything, but the guy had been otherworldly patient with him. 

One day he'd fallen in love with a beautiful girl from a wealthy family and decided to ask her out – her butlers had let him in without so much as asking for his name, her parents had agreed eagerly to accept him into their family, and she had opened her legs before he had even asked for it. Now, she wasn't one to easily give herself to just anyone – in fact, he'd heard her crying and weeping more than just once, questioning her sanity and why she suddenly seemed to lose all control over herself when she was around him. 

It had been the first time he'd realized  _ something _ must be wrong with him. Something, in the best of ways, but still. Never, ever in his life had someone said 'no' to him. Which sounded good, in theory – that was, until he'd heard his beloved's cries at night, when she would once again mourn her sanity, her pride, her self-worth she felt she'd lost. 

He'd left soon after. This just wasn't what he wanted from life; a girl that only loved him when he was in the same room as her? One that lost all feelings for him once he turned around, regarded him as a stranger? 

No. 

He'd decided he would make the best of this 'blessing', to take matters into his own hands. 

So, he'd decided to become a blacksmith. Physical work was something he was good at, and bending metal to your will? Hardcore as hell. Way better than accidentally bending someone's  _ will _ . 

So he'd started learning under the city's most famous blacksmith, and soon became known for his great work himself. The richest of the rich came to commission him, everyone wanting a piece of the genius prodigy, and his master only ever supported him like a father would. 

All was fine and dandy, until one day the King's Guard had come along. They'd taken interest in him – for whatever reason – and, having forgotten about people's inability to reject him, he'd mentioned how cool it would be if he could become one of them one day. 

The next morning, two of them had come back to pick him up – to bring him to the castle and teach him how to work a sword and how to shoot a bow. How to put on armor, how to ride a horse – and, believe it or not, how to become the most boring human being in the universe. 

He'd missed his master's small workshop, the smell of fire and iron and sweat, the hot air on his bare skin, every single day a bit more than the last. He didn't care that he'd been a lot less wealthy back then, because he'd been  _ happy _ . 

But alas, he wasn't anymore. 

He was starting to think this 'blessing' was more of a curse than anything. 

Curses – now, weren't those things witches knew stuff about? He was pretty sure that was the case. And luckily, he knew some stuff about witches, or rather – about one witch. Or something. Or was it a shaman? Witch doctor? He'd forgotten. He didn't care either way – if anyone could help him, it would definitely be that person. 

So he left. In the middle of the night, he packed his most valued belongings, grabbed his sword, and just left. Through small alleyways and hidden paths he made his way out of the city, and when the sun finally rose in the sky above him, he was far into the forest dividing the kingdom in two. 

And he was also –

Lost. 

This damn 'blessing' certainly didn't help him find his way around. Then again, how would it? Everything here looked the same. Trees. Trees everywhere! And all trees definitely looked the same! 

Despite being used to standing around and guarding doors all day, the difficult terrain had his feet hurting faster than he liked. His arms and cheeks were full of scratches from stray branches he'd overlooked, and he could feel some huge blisters pulsing inside his well-worn leather boots. This was just horrible. The one time he really needed destiny to help out a bit, all luck had just left him. How was he supposed to survive out here? Instead of listening to his mom's ramblings about herbs and which plants were edible and which toxic, he'd been busy doing the horizontal tango with some poor girl like a teenager in full-blown puberty. 

Technically, that's exactly what he'd been, but he now regretted it. Srill; instead of getting his – admittedly, very big and nicely shaped – dick wet, he should've listened to the only woman who'd ever really loved him for who he was. 

Damn, now he was getting emotional. The melancholic atmosphere the setting sun was creating didn't help either. He just wanted to go home. Live a normal life. Be a normal guy and marry a normal girl. 

But he wasn't normal, and he had no home. 

"Damn," he mumbled and wiped away a manly tear with his one free hand, while supporting himself against a tree with the other. It wasn't too late; if only he could get rid of this curse, he could start over. Start a family of his own, build a house – find a new home. If only he could get rid of this curse. 

Huffing to himself, he straightened his back and continued walking. He ignored his aching feet; sitting down was for the weak, and he was a strong man! Maybe sometimes a little bit of a baby, but mostly a  _ strong man _ ! No need to sit –

He continued to tell himself just how much he didn't need a break, when something caught his eye. 

Smoke. A fire. A bonfire? His eyes grew big and the pain in his feet was suddenly gone. He started running, the smell of burnt wood and rabbit stew slowly filling his nostrils. Hell yeah, only a few more steps, just a bit more, just –

He collapsed right in front of a bonfire, face hitting the ground with a loud  _ thud _ . Ah yes, he'd forgotten. Woods had roots and shit. Damn it. But! He'd found something! Immediately forgetting about his frustration, he lifted up his head and a bonfire came into view – nice and warm and in the middle of cooking some delicious food and then there was also –

"Are you okay?" The voice startled him for a moment, though it sounded calm, almost soothing. He could make out the concern in it; and quickly found the equally concerned face it belonged to. 

His eyes grew wide. 

Without thinking twice, he jumped up straight, almost yelling a loud 'Hello!' while he did, then he bowed, then he got down on one knee –

He was a little overwhelmed, to say the least. How did one greet a witch anyways? Or a shaman? Was this even the shaman he'd been looking for? He peeked up at the other person. A man, and a beautiful one. He was wearing quite peculiar clothes – pieces of leather and hide stitched together to cover his chest, but still revealing his stomach. A skirt of similar fashion hid his lower regions, while his arms and legs were exposed. The skull of some animal was sitting on his head and framed his pretty face. 

Damn. 

"Uhm," the stranger spoke up again after not getting any reaction for a good minute. "Are you okay or…?" 

"Yes!" He nodded enthusiastically, but then blinked. "I mean, no. I mean –" He scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "My name is Bokuto Koutarou, and I'm here to find the – the forest…witch." He nodded, almost proud of himself for managing an entire sentence. Things weren't exactly easy when this otherworldly being was watching you. 

"Well, Ser Bokuto," the other man replied, "I wouldn't call myself a witch. Just Akaashi will do."

"Akaashi," Bokuto repeated quietly, beaming about having acquired this beautiful man's name. 

"You look exhausted. Sit down and eat, if you please. You can tell me why you're here afterwards." Akaashi nodded and pointed to the log laid out in front of the bonfire serving as a bench. 

Bokuto didn't need to be told twice; the pain in his feet was suddenly back, along with the pain everywhere else. He let out a loud, hearty groan when his butt met the log and he finally dropped his bag on the ground. 

Sweet, sweet sitting down. 

He pulled the boots off his feet – he really hoped his feet wouldn't smell too bad, he wanted to impress a certain someone – and let out a relieved sigh. He could see Akaashi smile ever so slightly out of the corner of his eyes, and was handed a bowl of rabbit stew a second later. "Bless you," Bokuto mumbled and took the bowl, immediately digging in. Effing  _ delicious _ . 

"Speaking of blessings." He peeked up just in time to catch the fleeting concerned look on Akaashi's face. "Your hair." 

"What about it?" Bokuto mumbled, wiping his mouth with one hand. It was weird, yeah, he was aware. White and black and just, weird. No reason to be all worried, though. 

Or was it? 

"It's – You're a cursed one." 

"A what?" 

He blinked. How – ? 

"It's also called a 'God's blessing', though that name is nothing more than a bad joke. Did you not know?" He leaned his head to the side and shot Bokuto a questioning look. 

"I know, I know. I've heard the stories. My parents told me. But you called me – a 'cursed' one? Is it a blessing or a curse now?" He frowned, suddenly a lot less hungry. 

He looked down at his bowl of stew. 

Nah, never mind. He  _ was _ hungry. 

"It can be both," Akaashi started, lightly humming to himself. "The legends say that the Gods roll dice when a cursed child is born, and either great luck or great misfortune will befall the child. In your case –" He turned to look at Bokuto. "I assume it is misfortune, seeing as you came here to see me." 

Bokuto stared at Akaashi, quietly munching on his meal without ever taking his eyes off the other. He was – impressed. Maybe. Was this something witches would know? Probably. He was still impressed. 

"Nah." He shrugged. "Am probably a lucky one. I just don't like having everything always handed to me. Makes it seem like my efforts are worthless, you know? I wanna get good things because I worked for them and deserve them, you know?" He jugged down the rest of the stew and put the bowl on the ground. "Just want to be normal, you know?"

He smiled at Akaashi, who blinked in surprise. "You're – willingly giving up your luck to be 'normal'?" Bokuto just shrugged. He didn't know how else to explain it; he didn't feel he needed to, anyways. This was his business, and his business alone. 

Akaashi huffed. And then smiled. And Bokuto couldn't help but smile, too. He felt kind of stupid, honestly; like a dog that got all happy for no other reason than his owner being happy. 

"Very well. I will arrange everything." Akaashi nodded and finally grabbed the bowl Bokuto had put down to fill it up once again. "You'll have to pay, though. The Lord has no use for your blessing – he will want a price of his own." 

"Yeah." Bokuto nodded. He'd heard as much. "And what about you? What do you want for helping me out?" 

"Ah, I don't need anything. I'm merely doing what the Lord asks of me," Akaashi just replied, a satisfied look on his face when he took his first bite. 

Bokuto silently scratched his head. He felt kind of bad, asking Akaashi for help and not giving him anything in return. Then again, what could he possibly give him? He looked around. 

The small hut Akaashi seemed to live in looked a bit old, but sturdy enough to provide shelter. There were animal hides hung up on branches, some relatively fresh, others tinted in a weird, unnatural hue, others almost fully dry. In between, herbs and plants were placed on flat stones and laid out in the sun; all serving medical purposes he assumed. Tons of colorful flowers surrounded the area. 

It looked just like he'd imagined it.

Suddenly, he felt a weird sense of longing welling up inside of him. Life here must be peaceful; a bit lonely, maybe, but if he were to live here with Akaashi –

"I will ask the Lord what he requires as a sacrifice to grant your wish." Akaashi's voice pulled Bokuto out of his thoughts – they'd been getting out of hand, anyways –, and when he looked up, he saw Akaashi standing in front of the door to his hut. "You wait here." 

Bokuto nodded sheepishly, watching with big eyes as the door closed behind Akaashi. He would 'ask the Lord'. Bokuto wondered. What Lord exactly? And how did Akaashi ask him? And, most importantly – what could a God possibly want from him? He looked down at himself. Maybe he should have brought some more gold? He'd taken a bit with him, but barely enough to rent a room for a night and buy a meal or two. Then again, what would a god need gold for? 

He sighed. This was all just super complicated. Or something. He didn't even know what he didn't know. He just hoped that at least  _ Akaashi _ knew things. 

Turned out, he did, when he walked out a bit later with a slight frown on his face. "I have spoken to the Lord," he started, looking at Bokuto all serious. 

Bokuto swallowed. "And? What does he want?" 

"Your sword."

"My sword?" Bokuto blinked, and looked down to where his sword was fixed to his hip. It was a good sword; the last he'd made before he'd left for the castle to become a knight. Worthless, but at the same time, one of his most prized possessions. Then again – he didn't want to be a knight anymore. Laying down his sword was the logical thing to do. "Right. He can have it." He nodded approvingly, to which Akaashi replied with a sigh. 

"Are you sure? Are you sure you're willing to give up your sword and every sword that may come after this one?" 

"I mean." Bokuto squinted at Akaashi. "Can I still hold, like, a dagger or something? I don't need a sword, but I wanna be able to defend myself, you know?" 

Akaashi let out another sigh. "The Lord asked specifically for your sword and only your sword." 

"Well, then! There you go!" With a broad grin, Bokuto undid the strap holding his sword, and handed the weapon to Akaashi. 

"Not – Not now. Not like this." Yet another sigh. Bokuto was getting a little worried. Did Akaashi have trouble breathing or something? Oh no. "I will hold a ceremony to sacrifice your sword to the Lord. The fire will take it."

The fire will take it. What the hell did that mean? Did he want to burn it? Was he aware steel wouldn't just melt in a cute little bonfire? Bokuto squinted again. He decided not to argue; as long as he got what he wanted, he really didn't care what Akaashi did to his sword. "And, like, when are we gonna do this? I wanna get rid of this magic stuff as fast as possible." 

"Right now, if you want to." Akaashi looked up at the sky; the sun had completely disappeared behind the horizon and countless stars were lighting up the night. Bokuto didn't know if it being night impacted this ritual in any way, but he certainly wouldn't complain. 

"Great! Let's do it, then." He clapped his hands together, and Akaashi nodded. Without another word, he started preparing – the pot above the fire put away, the log moved aside, some torches being put in a circle around the fire. 

Slowly but surely, this started giving off some creepy vibes. Bokuto mostly just watched – and helped with the heavier stuff, since he was a strong and manly man – and couldn't help but feel a slight shiver running down his spine. He had somehow totally forgotten this was still some witchcraft thing and those were commonly kind of creepy. Or so he assumed. This was his first time actually experiencing one, and it certainly didn't disappoint so far. 

When the area around the fire was cleared of everything except for the torches, Akaashi disappeared into the hut for a second – and when he came back, he finally asked for Bokuto's sword. Giving it one final glance, he pulled it out of the sheath and handed it to Akaashi. He used both hands to lift it up – adorable – and rammed it deep into the ground right in the middle of the bonfire. 

"You'll need to stand here," he then said, and directed Bokuto to his place right in front of the flames. He could feel the heat tickling his legs; if it grew any bigger, it would definitely burn off his eyebrows. A little worried, he tried leaning back a bit – just to be safe – and continued watching Akaashi, who seemed to have taken his own place now. 

He heard Akaashi slowly breathe in and out, deep and loud, and after a few more breaths, their surroundings suddenly went silent. The crickets had stopped chirping, the trees had stopped rustling, the wind had stopped blowing. And then – Akaashi raised his voice. 

Or rather, his voices. In what sounded like a canon with himself, he started chanting words in a language Bokuto didn't understand. Hisses left Akaashi's lips in between formulas, and he raised his hand –

Bokuto almost jumped right into the fire, when behind him one of the torches had suddenly ignited. The flames were bigger than the torch itself, and emitted an eerie blue glow. He swallowed – seemed like shit was getting serious now. 

Turning his gaze back to Akaashi, he straightened his back and took a deep breath. He assumed the same thing would happen with the other torches, and next time he didn't want to seem like he almost peed his pants. 

Sure enough, after another string of words and hisses, Akaashi raised his hand again and ignited the next torch – this time, it burned in a deep purple. 

He was almost too caught up with wondering about the weirdly colored flames to notice Akaashi's eyes had gone completely white; his voice had grown louder and now sounded like it were four people speaking at once. Bokuto felt his head spinning. This was seriously getting creepier by the second. He contemplated running for a second; but what was the worst that could really happen? 

Either way, he was completely frozen in place. He could only do so much as glance at the other torches as Akaashi lit them up with pure willpower and magic, one of them green, another red, and the last one yellow. 

Suddenly, Akaashi's chanting stopped.  _ Everything _ stopped. The entire world was silent for what felt like hours – and then the bonfire just about exploded right into his face. 

He stumbled backwards, coughing, waving in front of his face to put out any flames – but when he opened his eyes, he realized the flames weren't hurting him. His right arm was on fire, from the fingertips all the way up to his shoulder, burning so bright it almost blinded him. 

But it didn't hurt. It didn't spread. It burned, and then it died. And his arm was unscathed. 

"I'm sorry," he heard Akaashi's voice, quiet and soft and almost weak, suddenly sounding weirdly out of place. His eyes were back to normal, as were his surroundings. The torches looked completely untouched; almost as if they hadn't just burned in bright, unnatural colors. 

"Huh," Bokuto let out, looking himself up and down, and even running a hand through his hair just to make sure it was still there. "Did it not work?" 

"It did." Akaashi sighed. Again. Why did he always sigh? Before Bokuto had a chance to ask, Akaashi took a step closer and gently grabbed his right hand. "He took your sword hand." 

Bokuto blinked, only now noticing the weird grey patches that had formed on his fingers. He could watch them travel up his palm, to his wrist and then crawling underneath his sleeve. And just as the color faded, so did the feeling in his hand. 

"I'm –" He tried moving his fingers, turning his wrist, but nothing. Numb. All numb, his entire arm. 

He just stared. At his now numb arm, and his sword that pierced the ground completely unscathed. 

A laugh escaped his lips. 

"Damn, your  _ Lord _ is an asshole," he let out, a mix of frustration and actual amusement. Just like that, he'd lost an arm, how was he supposed to react to that? He had no idea. 

But if, at least, the curse was gone –

"I have another favor to ask." 

Akaashi looked up at him, slowly and with guilt in his eyes. He'd probably known that his Lord would take more than just his sword; for a second, Bokuto wasn't sure if he should be mad, but he decided to let it go. 

"Marry me." 

"What?" Akaashi's eyes went wide, his voice suddenly a pitch higher than before –

Now, what would his answer be? Bokuto would have loved to believe if it was a yes, it would be a genuine one, but somehow he knew it wouldn't be –

"No! Why would I marry you? I don't even know you!" Akaashi sounded almost offended, but the tiny pout on his lips didn't exactly get his point across. 

And Bokuto just – laughed. 

He laughed so hard he had to sit down, holding his numb arm first, his hurting stomach second. When he had somewhat calmed down, he looked up at a completely and utterly confused Akaashi. "Nobody ever told me," he started, still giggling like a kid, "nobody told me how much hearing a 'no' would make you want something." 

He could clearly see that Akaashi was at a loss of words. It wasn't like he needed to say anything, though; Bokuto had gotten what he wanted. What was an arm compared to a life? 

"But I'll stay here with you, whether you like it or not. You're gonna marry me sooner or later." 

"O–" Akaashi gulped. "Okay?" 


	2. Chapter 2

If he had to describe the world in a single word, it would be _bland_. 

Bland, boring, void of any flavor or other excitements. Just utterly heartbreaking to look at. 

Him, a pessimist? No. Just realistic. A bit weak, maybe, and sickly, but definitely not a pessimist. 

It wasn't his fault the world and all its gods hated him. 

It was true; ever since his birth, things were steadily going downhill. His mother had died shortly after he'd been born, leaving him with a father that was neglectful at best, and a whore at worst. At least he'd had the decency to have earned quite a bit of money before his time as a freelance prostitute – though prostitutes really didn't deserve to be lumped in with the kind of his father – so he could now live a somewhat comfortable life. 

Well, as comfortable as it got, when you were locked up inside your room all your life, unable to go outside due to a myriad of some more, some less fatal illnesses. And really, he didn't mind that much – he's never been the most social person anyways, always preferring books and games over people. 

He really hadn't minded –

That was, until another of his already very limited abilities started giving out on him. 

He'd only shortly before gotten into painting; he wasn't the most talented painter ever, but he hadn't been terrible, either. He'd gotten better with practice, too, and noticeably so.

Even more noticeable, though, had been the change from more dark, muted colors to bright ones, to heavy contrasts, to bigger shapes and less details. 

It had only taken so long until his only friend had finally asked if, by any chance, his eyes were getting worse. 

As a joke, at first – only when he hadn't been able to hold himself back, had yelled at the other, had even thrown a brush at him, and had then cried like a baby, had his friend noticed just how right he was. 

Yeah, his eyes were failing him.

Slowly, steadily, his sight was getting worse; dark colors started to blur, making it impossible for him to recognize any details anymore. Soon, reading had become so hard, it would take him hours to finish a single page. Now, his bookshelves remained mostly untouched; his paints and brushes carelessly thrown into a corner of his room, where they blurred into one big blob of shades of brown and grey and black. 

He hadn't minded. This, though – this was too much. 

And that was exactly how he'd gotten here – on a horse, clinging to the back of his only friend, who, after a good portion of manipulation and guilt-tripping, had agreed on taking him to that rumored shaman living in the woods, who could grant any wish you had. They'd been traveling for 2 days now, the trip significantly longer than it would normally take, because he simply wasn't used to – well, anything, really. 

"Kuroo," he whined, for the 4th time today, tugging on his friends shirt. "I need a break." 

"Again?" Kuroo sighed. "Aight. We should arrive at a village in a few minutes, let's rest there." 

"But my butt hurts now." 

Another sigh, then the horse slowed down. "You're way too spoiled. But it's probably my own fault for always giving you everything you want." 

His grip on Kuroo's shirt slowly loosened, and his hands found the saddle instead. It was hard to keep your balance even just sitting on a horse; he really wondered how people were able to actually _ride_ one of these, though he had a feeling that seeing where you were going made things significantly easier. Seeing made a lot of things significantly easier; like, for example, not getting startled when you were suddenly grabbed and lifted off a horse. 

"There you go. Feel better now? Or should I kiss it better?" 

"You wish," he huffed, and lightly slapped what he assumed was Kuroo's arm. "How long until we finally get there?" 

"Depends on how many breaks you'll need. We're almost there, though. The forest is right beyond that village I mentioned," Kuroo explained and led the horse to the side of the road to make space for other travelers – not that there were all that many people coming here. This so-called shaman was quite known throughout their country, but that didn't necessarily mean people had a good opinion of him. Which was natural, he assumed; most people feared what they couldn't understand. 

"Hey, Kenma. You sure you wanna go there? We can still turn back." 

Kuroo was one of them. 

"No," Kenma sighed, and lightly shook his head. "I need to do this. Either that, or you finally show some mercy and end me." 

"I'll definitely _not_ do that." 

"Well, then." Kenma smirked and stretched; every muscle in his body was sore, even some he didn't even know existed. This had been his first time in, what, 15 years sitting on a horse? Or even being outside for more than a few minutes at a time. He had to admit, it wasn't as bad as he thought it would be – but he could still slowly feel the effects this journey had on him. He was feeling dizzy most of the time, nauseous even, and a constant, sharp pain had settled inside his head. Sleep only helped so much, when the past two days they'd been staying in cheap rooms in tiny villages that had beds that were hardly any softer than the wooden floor. 

But he'd rather sleep in uncomfortable beds for the rest of his life and never properly eat again, than just quietly let himself go blind without at least trying to do something about it. Without trying – anything. If he could exchange his legs for fully functioning eyes, he'd do it without thinking twice. 

"I know I'll never understand how you feel," he heard Kuroo say, quietly, softly, obviously trying to not offend him in any way. "But is it really _that_ bad? I mean, I don't know – you always say the real world is bland anyways. What's there you wanna see so badly, then?" 

Kenma just frowned. Yeah – he'd never understand. 

"I'm tired," he just replied, completely dismissing Kuroo's question. They'd had this conversation a few times now; he was tired of it. He wanted to be able to see. What about that was so hard to understand?

"Okay." Kuroo let out a deep sigh, and directed both Kenma and the horse back onto the road, before lifting Kenma up onto the animal's back again. Then he mounted it himself, waited for Kenma's arms to wrap around his waist, and urged the horse to move. 

They arrived at the village no more than ten minutes later – it was small, just like the previous ones, and smelled just the same. Wood, rotten food and feces – Kenma wondered if him losing his sight made him hyper aware of how bad places that humans inhabited smelled, or if they smelled like this to everyone. He really hoped not. 

The inn seemed small, as usual, but the girl working at the desk was friendly enough; though Kenma's standard for 'friendly' had lowered significantly lately. He was already satisfied if they just left him alone; he didn't mind being ignored, if the opposite was being asked about your weird eyes or pale skin or sunken cheeks. Luckily, this time, no questions were asked – instead, Kuroo received the key to their room on the first floor and some directions. 

Kuroo carried him up the stairs, the wood lightly creaking under their weight, and lowered him onto the bed once they'd arrived in the room. Kenma could feel the hay underneath the thin layer of fabric; this was going to be another uncomfortable night. He sighed, and wriggled his boots off his feet. Kuroo helped him change into something more comfortable, and soon after, he drifted off into a both dreamless and restless sleep. 

  
  


The next morning, all he could feel was _heat_. It was as though the room as burning – he was sure, though, he'd be able to make out flames at the very least – so the only explanation he could think of was –

He had a fever. Damn it. Why now, of all times? Well, probably because he'd pushed himself way too far with this whole journey, but still – why now? He wouldn't have cared if this had happened on their way back, but now Kuroo would probably try to convince him to turn back again. Or at least stay the day so he could rest – but he didn't want to fucking rest. He just wanted to get this over with already –

A frustrated whine left his lips without him noticing, and right after he could feel Kuroo shift next to him. Great, now he'd woken him up. He felt him shift around some more, then getting up slightly, and then a hand came to rest on Kenma's forehead. 

"You have a fever." 

No shit. 

"I – I feel fine. Just need a proper breakfast," he mumbled, but couldn't hold back the shiver running through his body right after. Damn it. 

"Yeah, right. No, no, we're gonna stay here for today. And if you don't feel better by tomorrow, we'll turn back." 

"I'll go alone if you won't take me."

Kuroo sighed. By now, he should be used to Kenma's stubbornness; why was he even still surprised? 

"Then we'll stay until you feel better," he tried reasoning, but Kenma just lifted himself up a bit, wiping back some hair that had been sticking to his sweaty forehead. 

"I'll feel better as soon as I get my eyes back." 

Another sigh, then Kenma felt a hand grabbing his own, intertwining their fingers. "Can you please listen to me just this once? I'll take you there, even if it kills me, but I won't risk _your_ life." His voice sounded defeated, pleading even, and Kenma almost – just _almost_ gave in. 

"Staying here could kill me just as much as going on, you're well aware of that." He wiped at his nose, itching from all the dust flying around. Yeah, this room really wasn't all that much safer than the outside world. "I promise I'll tell you immediately when I need a break, or if I start feeling worse." 

A long silence followed; Kenma assumed Kuroo was trying to think of a way to convince him. 

There was no way, though – which Kuroo was painfully aware of. 

"If you die, I'll kill you." 

Kenma smirked. "Deal." 

A mediocre breakfast and several attempts at dressing Kenma without him falling over later, they were back on the road. 

'Road' was a wild overstatement, though. After they'd passed the first few brown blobs – which Kenma had correctly assumed to be houses – the road turned into a path, and the path soon turned into what felt like an obstacle course. It didn't take long for Kuroo to get off the horse quietly swearing at nature. "We'll have to continue by foot. Wait here, I'll quickly bring the horse back to the village." 

Kenma nodded, not really paying any attention to the direction he was facing – he was struggling to even stand upright, without swaying from one side to the other, or, optionally, throwing up all over himself. 

He listened to Kuroo's footsteps; they grew more and more distant, and soon after even the horse was too far away to hear. Just to be save, Kenma held his breath for a few seconds longer, and when he was sure the other was gone, he just – collapsed to the ground. He tried hard to stay conscious, to keep his eyes open, but sweet, black nothingness overwhelmed him without any proper fight. 

A rustling sound woke him up; he was just barely there to see he was moving, to understand Kuroo was carrying him on his back. He was mad, that much Kenma could tell; if only for the other's constant complaints, uttered under his breath to not wake Kenma, but he was close enough to Kuroo's face to hear it all. 

"I could just read you your stupid books," he could hear, and, "why would you risk your fucking life just to see? What's there so fucking important to see, anyways?" 

Kenma couldn't help but be a tiny bit amused. Kuroo barely ever used swear words this much; not even when he was mad. Usually just when he was mad, frustrated _and_ felt helpless. And Kenma felt awful. 

"I can't remember what your face looks like," he mumbled – or hoped so – he was too dizzy to tell if any words had come out of his mouth, and too weak to try and repeat them. 

Kuroo, though, immediately stopped swearing, stopped mumbling altogether, and even stopped walking for a second. Kenma closed his eyes, ready for another lecture, but nothing happened. Instead –

"Okay." 

Kuroo started moving again, and Kenma barely managed a weak smile, before drifting off again. 

–

"I swear he's a beast with the bow, even though he doesn't look it." 

Kenma flinched. That voice definitely didn't belong to anyone he knew. It sounded friendly enough; a bit too loud for his tastes, but not like it belonged to a kidnapper or something.

Not that he had any idea what a kidnapper would sound like. 

"I mean." Kuroo's voice. The tension that had built up inside Kenma's body vanished at once, and he left out a small sigh. "He's wearing a skull as a head accessory. He does look like he's a beast with the bow." 

A small chuckle sounded from yet another direction, and the loud guy from before let out an offended whine. 

"He looks like an angel! Are you blind?" 

"That's rude," Kenma pressed out, more a croak than anything else really, but it was enough to get everyone's attention. 

"You're awake! Finally." Kenma turned his head a bit to face Kuroo; with his black hair sticking out in all directions and a lighter blob where his face was, he was relatively easy to recognize. He was also close; _very_ close. After shifting around, Kenma noticed he was, in fact, curled up in Kuroo's lap. Like a fucking baby. 

Just like Kuroo liked it. 

"Hey hey hey!" the loud guy from before interrupted them, also scooting dangerously close; Kenma assumed that Kuroo had told this guy – whoever the hell he was – about his bad vision, which would explain the others inability to keep a polite distance. At least he hoped so. Or was he always this – intrusive? "I'm Bokuto! And this here, see, this guy –" another person came into view, "this is 'Kaashi!" 

"It's Akaashi." 

"He's the shaman you've been looking for! Cool, huh?!" 

Kenma lightly frowned. Why was this Bokuto guy so happy? Or so loud? Or, here? His head started throbbing. 

"Nice to meet you, Kenma. Here, I made some tea to help with your fever," Akaashi said, his voice a lot less headache-inducing than Bokuto's, and held out what Kenma assumed was a cup of tea. He wriggled his hands out of – out of the soft, fluffy cocoon they'd wrapped him in, and took the cup. 

It smelled of herbs and flowers, mixed with the smell of burning wood, the hide he was wrapped in and a bit of Kuroo – yeah, he definitely already liked this place a lot more than the village they'd spent the night at. "Thanks," he mumbled, and took a sip. It definitely smelled better than it tasted, sadly. 

"Kuroo told us about your eyes. In exchange for your vision, the Lord will want something else. Are you willing to give up whatever he might ask for?" 

Kenma frowned slightly. He'd heard of this exchange, and he was obviously fine with it – but what would this 'Lord' want? He was willing to give everything he himself could give, but there were more important things –

"He can only take something from you, not from anyone else," Akaashi added, as if he was somehow able to sense what Kenma was thinking. Kenma averted his gaze, trying not to look suspicious. Nobody had to know –

Kuroo didn't need to know. He didn't need to know he was more important than everything else Kenma could possibly lose; more important than his life, even. 

"Right," he said, lightly tapping his fingers on the cup, staring into the dark night sky. Well, what could really go wrong then? 

"Man, you should really think this through. This Lord is kind of a bastard. He said he'd take my sword, but he really took my sword arm." Bokuto seemed to nod enthusiastically, and Kenma could immediately feel Kuroo tense up against him. 

"Do we get to know what he wants before the ritual? And can we still say no if it's too much?" 

" _I_ am willing to give him whatever he wants. _You_ stay back and let me make my own decisions," Kenma immediately said, before Akaashi could even answer Kuroo – there was no 'we' in this. It was him, and this Lord.

"Yes," Akaashi finally answered, "you can decide once you know what he asks for." 

"Alright, then." Kenma nodded, and watched Akaashi get up, the black and brown blob now forming more of a line, and then disappearing into the background. It was kind of hard to make out anything that wasn't a person here; it was dark, and everything just blended together in a puddle of woody colors. 

He couldn't wait to properly see his surroundings again. 

"Man, listen." A pat on his back pulled him out of his thoughts. "Just be aware that it's probably gonna be a lot worse than it sounds, 'kay?" 

"I don't care." Kenma just shrugged and took another sip of his tea. "Nothing could be worse than this." 

"Doesn't Akaashi know beforehand? Like, can't he just tell us what's gonna happen?" Kuroo's voice sounded tense, almost anxious; his leg started uncontrollably bouncing up and down out of nervousness, and Kenma pushed it back down onto the ground with his arm. 

"Eh, sometimes he knows, sometimes he doesn't. He's not allowed to tell people, though." Bokuto let out a deep sigh. "I don't think he really likes doing this. Doesn't seem like it, at least. He's not telling me, though." There was a pouty tone to his voice; Kenma smirked. Bokuto seemed like a big, bulky (or overweight? Kenma wasn't sure) baby. 

"Who are you to him, anyways?" Kenma felt Kuroo's chin resting on top of his head. "Are you, you know. His bride?" 

"Excuse me?" The obvious outrage in Bokuto's voice made Kenma chuckle. "I am obviously the groom, and Akaashi is my bride." He lifted up his arm and flexed his muscles – he was pale enough for Kenma to see that much, and make him laugh even harder. Yeah, a big, bulky baby. 

"I'm not your bride." A form emerged from behind Bokuto. "If anything, I'm your babysitter." Some giggles, one offended gasp. "I have spoken to the Lord. Are you ready to hear what he wants in exchange for your eyes?" 

"Yes." Kenma nodded, barely trying to hide his excitement and carefully put down the cup. Now, what would it be? Something of equal value, right? So, probably something like his hearing or his ability to walk –

"He wants your biggest secret." 

Kenma blinked. His what, now? 

"What's that mean?!" At least he wasn't the only one who was confused. "What does he want with some secret, Agaashi?!" 

"It's Akaashi." 

"And how do you even burn a secret?" 

"Burn it?" Kuroo's voice, now back to sounding tense and anxious. "You're not gonna burn Kenma, are you?" Ah, and some suspicion mixed in. Kenma was sure, though, this 'Lord' wouldn't just burn him alive. How, then, would people know about Akaashi and his powers? How would Bokuto still be here? Kenma wasn't all too worried. 

"He can have it." Kenma just nodded, and shoved Kuroo's arms to the side so he could slowly stand up. He swayed a bit, but then found his balance again. This tea had helped quite a bit. "How will this work?" 

It was quiet for a second; he could almost feel some concerned looks on him, but eventually Akaashi spoke up. "Someone will have to write it down for you. Should Ku–" 

"Can you do it for me?" Kenma interrupted him before he could even finish his sentence; no, he did not want Kuroo to do it. The whole point of a secret was that nobody knew about it; as far as he was concerned, Akaashi was not somebody he would probably ever see again. And even if he did – he somehow trusted him to keep Kenma's secret. He seemed polite enough. 

"Uhm, sure. Tell me, and I'll write it down." Akaashi gently took Kenma's hand and led him towards what Kenma assumed was a hut, and the sound of his steps against the now wooden floor proved him right. "You two can prepare everything. I'll leave it to you, Bokuto." 

The door closed behind them, and Akaashi let go of Kenma's hand to grab something to write. "Okay, I'm ready."

For some reason, Kenma's heart was suddenly pounding. He wasn't sure why; it wasn't like Akaashi had anything to do with his secret, and Kenma was pretty sure he wouldn't just go around and tell people – it was just – he hadn't ever put it into words. Hadn't ever said it out loud. Never really planned to, either. So –

"Can you come a bit closer?" he mumbled, chewing on his lower lip to somehow cope with his anxiety. Luckily, Akaashi didn't question it; instead he leaned over, and down a bit, so Kenma was just a few centimeters away. “I'm –"

–

"Stop using the torches as swords." Akaashi led Kenma back outside and to a spot right in front of the campfire; it was nice and warm and bright, and from here, Kenma could even see the two big idiots dueling with said torches. He huffed in amusement, and shook his head a bit. 

Just a few minutes now, and he should be able to see again – just a few minutes –

"Sorry, Akaash'." 

"It's Akaashi." 

"Can we watch? Kuroo wants to watch." 

"Sure. Now put the torches where they belong." 

Bokuto planted the torch in his hand into the ground with a loud _thud_ , and then repeated it to Kenma's other side with the one Kuroo was holding before. Then, his steps led him away, along with Kuroo's. 

"Okay, we can start now. Just stay where you are, no matter what you'll hear. It won't hurt, I promise." 

"That doesn't sound concerning at all." 

Akaashi huffed in amusement. "I know. Sorry. Just stay still." 

Kenma nodded; he was slowly getting a bit nervous, and Akaashi saying all these suspicious things certainly didn't help. Suddenly, Bokuto's presence was weirdly calming – a silent reminder that he would be alright. 

That thought vanished the second he heard Akaashi's voice again – or his voices. Two, three, and then four of them, all speaking in unison, in a language that seemed oddly familiar but still unknown to him. The fire grew brighter, and hotter, and Kenma could feel a cold shiver running down his spine. Only now he noticed their surroundings had gone quiet; he closed his eyes, tried sensing something, anything around him – and there it was. Kuroo's breathing. Quiet, but fast, nervous, scared, just like Kenma's. And also – soothing. He knew that, as long as Kuroo was here, nothing bad could ever happen to him. 

He took a deep breath, and stopped fumbling around with his shirt, instead putting his hands flat on his thighs. There was no need to be scared. Akaashi had said so, too. There was no need to worry. No need to –

He almost jumped straight into the fire when he heard a loud bang behind him. He turned, and – one of the torches had lit itself up. In blue, nonetheless. Wow. Not creepy at all. How was he supposed to not get worried about all this? 

He swallowed the big lump that had formed in his throat and turned back to Akaashi. His four different voices were still going wild, accompanying his body – at least it looked like he was flailing around quite a bit, as far as Kenma could see. 

Maybe, he thought to himself, he should keep his eyes closed until this was over. He now knew what to expect – Akaashi was being weird, there were 4 more torches left, and fire was hot. Yeah, nothing to worry about. 

He took a deep breath and counted in his head; 4 voices, 1 torch. The second torch pretty much exploded somewhere to his right. Now it was 3 voices. A few hisses, too. Then a screech, and another bang, this time a bit further away – in front of him, he assumed, a bit to the left. He didn't need to open his eyes to know it was probably burning in an unnatural color. 3 torches. 5 voices now. All of them hissed. Another bang. Quiet whispering sounds, all the way behind him. Kuroo panicking, he assumed. He decided to ignore it. Then, another bang. The last one, probably. Akaashi suddenly went silent –

Kenma opened his eyes. Was it over? No, surely there would be some grand finale or something. Or maybe not. But he definitely still couldn't see. Another bang –

Kenma gasped, stumbling back a step, and left out an ear-piercing scream, when the fire was suddenly so close, so hot, he was sure he was on fire. His chest was burning, his face, his eyes, he could barely breathe, he tried putting the flames out with his hands, not even noticing that he'd fallen over in the process –

And then it stopped. Kenma coughed, clutching his shirt. It hurt, it fucking hurt, as if hot coals were trying to make their way out of his throat. He coughed into his hand, opening his eyes just a bit to see black particles in his palm, coal, just like he thought and then he noticed –

He could see. 

He could clearly see the tiny, tiny particles of coal against his skin. His hands were shaking, and a bit dirty, though not as dirty as his pants. They were once a nice beige color, he knew as much; now there were patches of mud and grass stains all over. His eyes followed the seams, counting the stitches, all the way to the hem, to his boots, where a huge scratch sullied the otherwise untouched leather. A single blade of grass was stuck to the toe of the boot; he didn't know why that stupid piece of grass made him this emotional, but he could feel his eyes watering. 

Before he had properly processed what had happened, that it had _worked_ , that he could _see_ , he felt two big hands grabbing his shoulders from behind. 

"Kenma! Are you okay? Hey!" 

Kuroo. 

A silent sob escaped Kenma's lips, as he turned around and finally, after months and months of longing, he could see his dearest friend's face again. 

A crooked smile made its way onto Kenma's face, so happy he could – no, so happy he _was_ crying, but not fully willing to let the extent of his joy show. 

He lifted up one of his hands to touch Kuroo's cheek; he really couldn't care less if he would smear mud all over Kuroo's face, and Kuroo didn't seem to care, either. His hand found Kenma's, and his eyes grew big. 

"You – you can see? It worked? It really –" 

Kenma could see tears form in Kuroo's eyes, and almost wanted to laugh. Yeah, yeah he could. He could see every damn pore and pimple and hair, and he loved every bit of it. He opened his mouth to speak, to tell him, to laugh with him –

But nothing came out. 

A weird croaking sound was all he managed. He immediately tasted some more coal in his throat, and tried swallowing it down, speaking again, make any sound, but he couldn't. 

Behind him, he could hear a gasp. 

"Woah, so he took away his chance to ever tell his secret to anyone?" 

Kenma blinked. Bokuto was – probably right. And suddenly, Kuroo didn't look as happy anymore. 

Kenma just sighed. He really wasn't surprised. He'd exchanged his eyes for his voice – sounded fair to him. And sucked a lot less than being blind, he thought. He pinched Kuroo's cheek, whose lower lip had barely started to tremble, obviously devastated, and smiled at him. A soft, gentle smile – as good as he could manage, since now this was the only way for him to comfort Kuroo. It was fine. It was fine. 

"It's fine," he mouthed, without any sound coming out. 

– 

It had taken Kuroo a lot longer to calm down than it had taken Kenma. He was content like this; happy, even, to finally be able to properly get to know Bokuto and Akaashi, and look at the little hut they shared and the surrounding forest and the beautiful night sky – while Kuroo was crying against his chest. Like a baby. But even if Kenma still had a voice, he wouldn't have said anything. It was fine like this. 

At some point, Akaashi had made more tea; some for his throat that still felt dry after quite literally burning for a good minute, and some for Kuroo to calm down. Bokuto had picked up the hide Kenma had been wrapped in before, and had instead put it around Kuroo's shoulders, along with his arm, and was continuously mumbling encouraging words that Kenma could barely hear; not that he was listening. He was way too busy _seeing_. 

Akaashi seemed to be the only one who was happy for him; who could see just how much more Kenma liked it this way. Who smiled gently at him when their eyes met. Who – suddenly stopped smiling. 

"I thought maybe you still want this," he said, quietly, so Kuroo and Bokuto wouldn't hear, and handed him something. 

Kenma looked down at it – a piece of paper, the edges burned away so only a single, neatly written line was still visible. 

_I'm in love with Kuroo._

Kenma smirked. It wouldn't be fair, right? He had promised to trade his secret for his eyes, after all. He didn't want to pick a fight with a God.

With one swift move, he threw the paper into the flames and watched as his secret burned. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some blood I guess

Love had always been a weird concept to him. 

Putting someone else above you, caring so much for them you would die to save them – sounded fake, as far as he was concerned. There'd been a time where he couldn't even imagine sharing his food with someone. 

Not that many people would want to eat raw pigeon. He hadn't wanted to either, but what choice had he really had? It had been that, or trash. And at least hunting pigeons had improved his reflexes quite a bit. 

Not enough to escape the castle's guards, though – 

Love had been a weird concept. Still was, in a way. But, dying to save someone else's life? Not as unlikely as you think. 

At least not when it came to a certain person. 

"I'll be back in a week, I promise. You won't even notice I'm gone!" He nodded, smiling broadly to get his point across. "You're fine without me anyways, aren't you now?" 

No answer, just a pout. A huge, disgusting, heartbreakingly sad looking pout, and he almost caved. 

He grabbed the other's face with his hands, squeezing his cheeks a bit. "Don't be like that. I'm only leaving to get something for your birthday, after all!" 

A tiny sigh, and then he nodded, cheeks still squeezed together. 

Kuroo smiled. "I'll be back." 

And with an innocent kiss to Kenma's forehead, he left. 

  
  


Kenma had adjusted quite well to life without a voice; his attendants mostly knew him well enough to not need him to say things out loud to communicate. His father was the only exception to that – barely ever home, his son was a mere stranger to him. Wasn't really surprising, seeing as his reaction to Kenma's real mother's, and then also his foster mother's, death was basically buying him a brother. 

Obviously Kuroo wasn't Kenma's brother, had never been. He'd never officially been accepted into the family, and Kenma's father had always seen him as 'less than'. Kuroo couldn't say he cared anymore; he had, at one point, but somewhere along the way, he'd realized that what mattered most to him was – Kenma. 

Kenma was all the family he ever needed, and he would gladly lay down his life to save him. 

Now, this was a somewhat new realization. Of course Kenma had always been his 'Number One' in, well, basically every aspect of life – but to say he loved him would've made him laugh not too long ago. 

Kuroo liked to think he was pretty intelligent. Sometimes. Kind of. 

Apparently that intelligence didn't extend to  _ emotions _ . 

It had taken Kenma's  _ voice _ for him to realize just how much he really meant to Kuroo. He'd felt pretty stupid when he'd noticed; blind, even though he was never the one with failing sight. 

It had taken him even longer to come to terms with it. Feelings were a weird thing; confusing, mostly, and really just overall annoying. Like, what was the point of him crying every time Kenma's eyes started to fucking  _ sparkle _ whenever he saw something nice nowadays? Even more so when said 'something nice' was just damn food, and not even some cliché thing like a sunrise. 

Exactly. There was no point. Absolutely none at all. 

He had to admit, he'd been really irritated at himself at first. It hadn't made any sense to him. And neither had the weird sharp pain he felt every time Kenma opened his mouth to speak and all that came out were disappointed sighs. 

Now he really wasn't a fan of Kenma's father  _ at all _ , but for once he'd done something right – well, not really, but anyways. 

When they'd arrived back at the manor, his first reaction had been to  _ yell at Kuroo _ . Yell at him about how he was supposed to protect Kenma, to take care of him, to sacrifice his own life for him –

That he should've given  _ his _ voice for Kenma's eyes. 

Kuroo had never seen Kenma so pissed off in his life. Before his father had even been able to complete the sentence, Kenma had positively bitch-slapped him. The expression on Kenma's face back then would've been able to kill someone if such a thing was possible – and then he'd grabbed something to write to cuss his dad out real good, all the while repeatedly pushing and snacking him in anger in between writing. 

Kuroo didn't even know what Kenma had written; he hadn't asked. The fact that Kenma had protected him so ferociously had told him all he'd needed to know. 

He loved him, more than anything. 

Without even noticing, he'd started crying, clinging to Kenma and sobbing against his shoulder. 

Because, despite all this –

Kenma's father had been right. 

He should've given his voice. 

And here he was – officially on his way to get Kenma some rare books for his birthday, unofficially on the way to Akaashi to trade in his voice to get Kenma's back. 

Or at least he hoped so. Last time, Akaashi had told them his 'Lord' could only take from the person performing the ritual – did that also mean he couldn't  _ give _ to someone else? Kuroo grew nervous every time the thought occurred to him. He could've brought Kenma of course, he was sure there would be  _ some _ way then – but how on earth would he explain all this to Kenma? 

Simple. He just couldn't. Kenma would probably rather die than agree. 

But Kenma wasn't the only stubborn idiot here, and so Kuroo had decided to at least try. And if it didn't work, or Akaashi simply refused to do it, well – he could always knock Kenma out and come back another time. Or something. 

The trip seemed surprisingly short, without all the breaks and nights spent at cheap inns Kenma had needed. The one break he did need, he slept curled up against his bag on the ground of some forest, in front of a bonfire and with one eye open just in case. He was a big guy, though, and not someone most people would pick a fight with – even less for the cheap clothes and sword he'd deliberately chosen for this journey – so he didn't have any problems. 

At noon of the next day, he'd already reached the forest Akaashi lived in. The village still looked the same, and smelled the same too, and this time he knew to better leave the horse behind. He found a stable he could park it in, and then followed the path into the woods. 

The leaves had slowly turned brown and yellow and red, and a nice breeze was accompanying him. Fall had arrived, almost going unnoticed by the people living in the bigger towns. Here, on the other hand, things seemed more lively than back in summer when towns were usually thriving. 

A fox was playing in a pile of leaves, jumping around and trying to catch falling leaves with its mouth; a few squirrels seemed to fight over a walnut as huge as their heads; a skunk was scurrying around inside a bush, probably looking for some food. 

Kuroo lightly chuckled to himself. Maybe he should have brought Kenma after all; as both a rich and a sick kid, he'd never really gotten the chance to be around animals a lot. A cat that was sometimes roaming the manor, and that was too fast for the guards to catch, was the only animal he'd ever really seen up close. This here would probably be paradise for him. Yeah, he should definitely bring him back some day. 

A hissing sound pulled Kuroo out of his thoughts; it seemed to have come from the skunk in the bushes, that suspiciously looked like it had gotten tangled up in the branches and thorns. 

"Don't worry, I'll free you," Kuroo quietly mumbled, more to himself, and slowly, carefully scooted closer to where the animal was hiding. He extended a hand, a concentrated look plastered onto his face; he didn't want to startle the skunk and have it potentially bite him. Or spray him with its smelly stuff. But he really felt like he had to help –

"Oya!" 

Just when his hand slightly brushed the black and white fur, the skunk's voice resounded. 

Wait. 

The skunk's voice? 

He frowned at himself, and the next moment a person emerged from the bushes.

"Can a man not even take a dump in peace around here?!" 

Kuroo blinked. 

And then laughed. 

"Bo! Long time no see! What are you doing all the way out here? Apart from shitting, obviously." 

Bokuto let out a tiny gasp, before he threw his arm to the side to invite Kuroo into a hug. Who almost went for it, when –

"Wait, are you even done? Ass clean and pants up?" He pointed down to Bokuto's lower body, luckily hidden beneath nature, and grimaced. 

"Dude. Think I would hug you if I wasn't ready?" A slightly offended expression rested on Bokuto's face, before he laughed. "Never mind, I totally would. But don't worry, bro, I'm done." 

"Gross." Smirking, Kuroo pulled Bokuto closer, wrapping his arms around him and patting his back. When he let go, he noticed that Bokuto's pants were, in fact, still open, barely just hanging on his hips and on the verge of sliding down again. "You should get yourself some pants that don't need two hands to close." He shook his head, and closed it. 

"No way. That would mean Akaamshi wouldn't have to close them for me anymore." 

"Still haven't learned how to pronounce his name right, I see," Kuroo just chuckled and helped Bokuto out of the bush – and then lead him far, faaaar away from it. 

"I know how it's pronounced," Bokuto huffed, adjusting the basket strapped to his back that seemed to be filled with all kinds of mushrooms. Akaashi had sent him to collect those, Kuroo assumed. "This is my way of giving him loving nicknames without being too obvious." He nodded enthusiastically, and with a proud grin on his face. 

Kuroo just snorted. As far as he was concerned, Bokuto was really fucking obvious. And he was pretty sure Akaashi would agree with him on that. 

"So, where's the little one? Didn’t bring him this time?" 

"No." Kuroo scratched the back of his head, and followed Bokuto back to their hut. Everything still looked the same, and despite most of his memories of this place being somewhat creepy, he couldn't help but smile. "He doesn't know I'm here. It's – a surprise, you know." 

"Speaking of surprises," Bokuto mumbled with a smirk, before basically kicking in the door. "SURPRISE!" he then yelled, grinning like a madman at Akaashi, who had fallen off his stool in shock. "Look who I found!" 

"Oh," Akaashi just let out and got up, wiping some dust off his backside, before gracing Kuroo with a small smile. "It's good to see you. How have you been? How is Kenma doing?" 

"Why is everyone always asking about Kenma?" Kuroo's eyebrows wandered closer to each other, forming a small wrinkle between them. "What about me? Am I nothing to you?!" 

Akaashi blinked; Bokuto threw him a concerned look. Kuroo was clutching his shirt in fake hurt. 

"Just joking. He's fine," Kuroo chuckled and lightly shrugged, before putting his bag into a corner. "Actually, I'm here because of him." 

"Oh? Is it his health again?" Akaashi's eyes grew wide, and he immediately started fumbling around with some wooden box, grabbing a small paper bag out of it. "Here, this will help him," he said and handed Kuroo the bag – who took it hesitantly. 

"Uhm, thanks, but no. He's fine." He would still take the herbs. "It's more like, you know. I'm here to. To get his voice back."

"Bro." He felt a big hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry to tell you but, that's impossible."

"Is it?" Kuroo lifted up an eyebrow, completely unimpressed. "Even if I give up mine in exchange?" 

Obviously he didn't know if that would change anything – but it would definitely sound like a deal for this Lord, wouldn't it? 

"Uhm," Akaashi spoke up, his face suddenly looking seriously tired. "I'm still not sure if that would work. That, and I  _ am _ sure Kenma does not know about this. Am I right?" 

"Absolutely!" He gave Akaashi his widest grin, along with a thumbs-up. Next to him, he could hear a hand hitting a face. What? Bokuto would do the same thing for Akaashi, Kuroo was sure. 

He was about to open his mouth and complain, when Bokuto grabbed his arm and pulled him aside. "You idiot," he hissed, glancing over at Akaashi, who was watching them full of concern. "Don't be so excited about this!" 

"Well, why not? You'd do the same for Akaashi!" 

"Uhm, of course I would?" For a second, Bokuto looked seriously offended. "But, unlike you,  _ I _ know how to push Akaashi's buttons and get what I want. And this is definitely not it." 

"You do, huh." It was more a question, really, because for some reason Kuroo couldn't believe that Bokuto was in any way, shape or form able to outsmart Akaashi. Yeah, no. Impossible. 

Or was it? 

"Obviously. I know him better than anyone else does." A proud grin appeared on Bokuto's face; suddenly Kuroo's didn't even doubt him anymore. Not as much, at least. As far as he was aware, Akaashi had been living here alone for years, before Bokuto had come along and refused to leave. If anyone would know Akaashi, it was probably him. 

"Well, then. Tell me what to do." 

"Okay, listen carefully," Bokuto said and cleared his throat, putting on a serious expression. "First, stop looking so excited. Look  _ sad _ instead. Cry, even, if you can. And then declare your undying love for Kenma and how you're suffering immeasurably ever since you can't hear Kenma's voice anymore." 

Kuroo nodded. Made sense. Yeah, that sounded like it would work. 

"You're aware I can hear you, right?" They jumped a bit, both having totally forgotten Akaashi was still there and, in fact, only a good metre away from them. The hut was small; this room even smaller. There really wasn't any way to talk in private here. 

Damn. 

"It's true, though," Kuroo still tried, putting on his best pout and puppy eyes, all learned from the best teacher one could have – Kenma. "He's the only person I've ever felt something like love for. So I want to do this for him. Can you not understand that?" 

Akaashi frowned; he looked a bit pissed, frankly, and Kuroo assumed it was because he was indeed pushing all the right buttons. 

He stared a little longer, trying to withstand Kuroo's pitiful stance, before throwing his hands into the air in defeat. "I'll think about it!" 

"Yay! Thank you, Akaamshi!" 

"Woah, bro," Bokuto interrupted him, his hand on Kuroo's shoulder again. "I'm the only one who's allowed to call him that."

Kuroo giggled. "Sorry." He turned back to look at Akaashi, who was lightly massaging his temples. He then grabbed two big bowls and shoved them into Kuroo's hands. 

"Go sort the mushrooms while I think about it," he ordered, and pushed both of them towards the door. "And don't eat them! Not even a tiny bite!" Kuroo felt this was more directed at Bokuto. "I'll check them later."

With a smug grin on his face, Bokuto made his way out the door and to the fireplace, where he settled down and kicked off his boots. "Gimme a hand?" He asked in Kuroo's direction, and pointed towards the basket on his back. 

Kuroo scooted closer and opened the leather straps. "Speaking of hands," he started, putting down the basket in the meantime, "what happened to your arm?" He raised an eyebrow at Bokuto's shoulder – he was pretty sure last time there had still been an arm; a useless one, yeah, but an arm nonetheless. 

"Eh, it got in the way, so we chopped it off." Bokuto shrugged. "'Kaashi was super sweet afterwards, so it was double worth it." His face took on a light pink color and a flustered smirk; now Kuroo was curious. 

"'Super sweet' how?" 

"Not like that, you big nasty." Somehow, he looked even more flustered now.

Kuroo couldn't help but laugh. "Why am I the nasty one? You just basically told me that Akaashi licked your wounds." 

A loud gasp escaped Bokuto's mouth. "I never said that!" He glanced over at the door with wide eyes, obviously worried Akaashi may have heard them. A few seconds passed, but nothing happened – seemed like he hadn't heard anything. "Man, I wish he had," Bokuto then said, quieter this time, and a lot more disappointed, too. "But I shouldn't complain. I got a kiss on the cheek! That's something, right? Right?!" 

Kuroo almost cooed at Bokuto. This was just sad. Like a puppy begging for attention and pissing himself in excitement over getting a simple pat on the head. "Yeah, I think he really likes you." Luckily for Bokuto, Kuroo wasn't one to kick someone who was already on the ground. 

Or maybe he was, but not this time. 

"Right?!" A certain sparkle had appeared in Bokuto's eyes as he held the bowl Kuroo had handed him close to his chest. "I'm gonna marry him one day, I'm telling you! Are you gonna be my best man then? Kenma can come too, and throw some flowers or whatever. Man, I can't wait –" 

"Dude.  _ Bro _ . Calm down." Kuroo could barely contain his laughter; Bokuto was so easily excitable, it was almost admirable, actually. "Tone it down a bit, or you might scare him away." He patted Bokuto's shoulder, who slowly nodded, a bit disappointed. "And now tell me what the hell we are supposed to do with these mushrooms." 

––

A loud sigh grabbed their attention, and both Kuroo and Bokuto looked up to find Akaashi standing in the door, leaning his head against the door frame, an exhausted look on his face. 

The sun was going down already; they'd finished sorting the mushrooms an hour ago, and had then found the door to the hut locked. Kuroo had assumed Akaashi was busy talking to his Lord; Bokuto had gone through all five stages of grief and had only calmed down a few minutes ago. 

"So?" Kuroo asked, cautiously; Akaashi really didn't look too excited. Or even just okay. He looked like he'd barely escaped death in there. "Did you – did he agree?" 

"Well," Akaashi started slowly, running a hand through his hair; Kuroo had never actually seen him without the skull on his head, he noticed. "He did agree. But –" Akaashi took a deep breath. "I might have – not told him the whole story, though." 

"Ohh, you lied to him? Such a bad boy, I like it," Bokuto giggled behind his hand, and earned himself a smack from Kuroo. This was really not the time to be joking around. 

"What does that mean for me? Is there a possibility it won't work – that I lose my voice, but don't get back Kenma's?" He frowned. Now that would  _ really _ suck. But he would still risk it. 

Probably. 

Ah shit, he didn't know –

"No." He blinked. Oh, okay. "No, a contract is a contract. The second I start the ritual you have agreed to the terms, which are – your voice for his voice." Akaashi shrugged. What he was saying sounded fine, so why did he look so worried? 

"What is it, then? Come on, tell me." 

"It's just – I don't know – sometimes the Lord does  _ things _ –" He sighed, and shook his head. "Forget what I said. I shouldn't question the Lord. He's a God, compared to him, I'm a mere insect." Another sigh, and with a hanging head, Akaashi went back inside his hut. Well, that had been –

Mildly concerning. He was questioning his own God? He'd seen him perform literal miracles, so the only thing Kuroo thought Akaashi might question were this God's morals or something along those lines – and frankly, that scared Kuroo a whole lot more. Did Akaashi think this Lord could take more from him? No – a contract was a contract. Could he kill him, then? But that would technically be taking his life, so against the contract –

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up. "Bro. Just ask Akaashi if it's save to do this. If he says yes, you can trust him. Okay?" 

Kuroo managed a wry smile, before running a hand through his face. Maybe Bokuto was right. Maybe he was overthinking this. Maybe nothing would happen – nothing that  _ shouldn't _ be happening, at least. Maybe Akaashi really just was unhappy about being this weird God's pawn, like Bokuto had mentioned last time. 

He took a deep breath and looked up at the sky; it had taken on a lovely pink color, and he could faintly see the moon coming up behind some clouds. 

If it was for Kenma, he didn't care if it took more than his voice.

Yeah – if it was for Kenma, he was willing to give up his life. Kenma was worth it. For Kenma –

He kept repeating it in his head, only noticing Bokuto had gotten up when the door creaked open once again. 

"Hey, are you okay?" he heard his voice, loud and clear, since Bokuto hadn't bothered closing the door properly after going inside. 

"I'm just – I'm scared." 

"Scared? Of what?" Bokuto sounded concerned; and Kuroo was, too. Scared of – what exactly? "Do you think something will go wrong because you lied to him?" 

"No. I mean, I don't think so. It's just – the ritual. I'm so exhausted," Akaashi answered, voice muffled and a bit shaky; Kuroo immediately felt bad. Was he asking for too much? If it scared and exhausted Akaashi this much, then he shouldn't do it just for Kuroo –

Except it wasn't. It wasn't for Kuroo, it was for Kenma. And no matter how bad he felt about asking Akaashi for this, his priority was still Kenma. 

"Hey, if you really don't wanna do it, just don't." Bokuto's voice again, a lot more stern now. Kuroo frowned. He definitely couldn't force Akaashi but –

"No, I'll do it. I can do it." Akaashi took a deep breath; just at the same time Kuroo did. "Just – just stay with me, okay? Stay close to me. Please?" 

Kuroo blinked. Now, this sounded a lot more intimate than anything he wanted to hear. But there just was nowhere else to go to give them some space –

That's what he would tell them later, anyways. 

"Of course. I'll be right behind you." Kuroo wasn't sure if he had imagined it, but he could swear he'd heard a smooching sound – very,  _ very _ quietly, but it had definitely happened, hadn't it? Damn, he would have to ask Bokuto later. 

The 'asking' part might get significantly harder by then, but whatever. He could write. He would write it down. 

Wait, could Bokuto read? 

He was still contemplating just asking Akaashi to read his messages to Bokuto, and how inappropriate it would be to ask about their love life that way, when the log underneath his butt was roughly yanked away. "Wha?!" 

"Get up, bro! We have a ritual to perform!" With a big grin, Bokuto continued to shove the log further away with his foot, while Akaashi got the torches ready. Kuroo somewhat knew how this was going down by now, so he grabbed the torches and helped place them in the holes that were already there. Kuroo wondered; how often was Akaashi doing this? It sounded like such an abstract thing, to seek out a shaman and perform a creepy ritual to basically sell pieces of your soul for whatever you might want – but the holes in the ground definitely indicated he and Kenma hadn't been the last ones Akaashi had done this for. Just how often did people find their way here? What kinds of things had people lost here before, unknowingly agreeing to a contract that was abstractly worded at best? 

Suddenly, this was a lot more creepy than it already was; he really hadn't thought that was possible, after witnessing it once before, but here he was, pissing his pants all over again. 

He lightly shook his head in an attempt to get these thoughts out of his brain for now; getting scared was no option here. Kenma had managed, so he couldn't back down now. Why would he, anyways? He'd seen it before. He knew what would be happening. Bokuto had told him his ritual had been the exact same. There was nothing to worry about. 

"Here," Akaashi pulled him out of his thoughts, and handed him a piece of paper and a quill. "Write down the name of the person you're giving your voice to, and the reason you're doing it." 

"Okay." Kuroo shrugged, and briefly did as he was told, before returning the paper. "But seriously, why is it always dark outside when we do this? Is that, like, a requirement?" 

"No, just a coincidence." Akaashi raised an eyebrow at him. "Why, are you scared? Kenma wasn't, I could tell." 

Kuroo lightly gasped. Was he trying to pick a fight? Because he definitely wouldn't lose. He wasn't scared. No, he definitely wasn't. If Kenma hadn't been, he couldn't be either –

Ah, damn. "I sure as hell am scared, so can we please get this over with?" he finally admitted with a crooked smile. Who cared if Kenma hadn't been scared and he now was? Kenma had always been braver than him in some ways; and Kuroo was braver than Kenma in a lot of others. It's why they got along so well. 

Akaashi smirked, but it looked more sympathetic than anything else, and nodded. Then he took a deep breath –

Kuroo had seen this before. Had experienced this before. The chanting, the voices, the hisses, the torches suddenly lighting up. It was weird, though, seeing it a second time, and from up close, too – there was a faint haze surrounding Akaashi Kuroo hadn't noticed last time. He could see him slightly shivering, each and every hair on his body standing on end – Kuroo could clearly see the fear in Akaashi's eyes, now that he wasn't so distracted by them being all white and creepy and lifeless. He felt bad again –

He didn't get to think about it for long, though, when Akaashi threw the paper into the flames and they exploded into his face. He'd thought this wouldn't happen to him, that he would manage to lean back in time since he knew it was coming, but here he was, face on weird, moderately warm flames, and coughing and flailing, and then the flames traveled and when they reached his throat –

He screamed. A pained, crooked scream, that he barely recognized as his own voice wouldn't he have felt his vocal cords vibrate – they vibrated, and then they  _ snapped _ . He could feel how they broke down inside his body, how his body tried fighting it off, his throat closing up, blood rushing up –

He coughed, again, and then threw up. The chanting had stopped, and the only sounds now disturbing the forest was his retching. He could barely see through the tears that had collected in his eyes, and he was sure the flames did their part too, because for some reason the stuff he was throwing up looked – red? Like – blood? 

He gagged again, and felt a bigger chunk wandering up his throat. It was as though he was throwing up his inner organs, one after the other, so painful and horrifying he soon ended up on his knees and sobbing loudly. He didn't even take notice of how Bokuto kept rubbing his back, how Akaashi kept apologizing, how they had offered him some water over and over –

He didn't know how long he was just sitting there gagging and crying, but at one point it stopped. Bokuto and Akaashi were still right there with him, still trying to help or at least understand what was happening, and Akaashi was heavily crying himself – Kuroo took a deep breath when he finally felt as if no more was coming. He opened his mouth to speak –

But nothing. 

Right. 

Lightly shaking his head over himself, he held up his hand to get their attention, before smiling at them – weak, probably not all that convincing, but it was all he could manage right now. He rubbed his eyes, finally drying off the tears that had blurred his vision, and took a look at what was in front of him. 

Which was a huge pile of – well, mostly blood and some lump of flesh that definitely didn't look like something he would eat. Had he seriously thrown up some organ? His vocal cords, if he had to guess – that would make sense. And seemed a bit extreme, too. And painful. God, his throat still hurt like he had tried swallowing a shrub full of thorns. 

"I'm so sorry," Akaashi repeated yet again, for probably about the 120th time now, "the Lord doesn't like to return something that was once his. I'm sorry. I should've known." 

Kuroo couldn't help but roll his eyes. If this pain was all he had to pay for this, he was fine with it. As long as it had worked –

Had it, though? 

"But it did work, right?" Thank God Bokuto and him mostly used one collective brain when they were close to each other. 

"I – think so, yes. I think this – this was the punishment for – tricking him. Yes, I'm sure." He nodded, and Kuroo let out a sigh. He really hoped so, but he just had to trust Akaashi. 

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up." He felt Bokuto's arm wrap around his waist to help him up, and he was glad for it; his knees still felt like pudding and he would probably drop to the ground the second Bokuto let go. Just before they rounded the corner to reach the small stream behind the hut, Akaashi stopped them. 

"Have you told him?" he asked, holding up a piece of paper; it was half burned, and drenched in blood and guts, and had a single sentence written on it. 

_ I'm doing this for Kenma because I love him. _

Kuroo just shrugged, then shook his head. 

Akaashi huffed. "Stupid idiots, both of you."


	4. Chapter 4

The only place hard work would get you to was your grave. 

He'd not always thought this way; quite the contrary, actually. He'd always been hard-working, practicing day and night, no matter if he was sick or hurt, or if the temperatures were reminiscent of the depths of hell more than anything else. With his father – born to a poor family, but now a respected merchant – as his role model, he strove for more, for higher places, for a better place in society –

For the king's guard. 

Now, mind you, getting into the king's guard wasn't easy. It wasn't meant to be easy. Only the best of the best were even granted a chance; usually only those of high birth, too, because a common peasant would be way too inclined to steal from the king's household, no? This had never sat right with him, but who was he to overthrow a government? 

Right. He was but a merchant's son. Luckily, though, a merchant that had accumulated enough wealth in the past few years to elevate his family above the 'common peasant' label, and to grant his only son a chance at becoming a king's guard. Granted he was good enough, of course. 

A handful of skilled teachers and well-known knights to train him later, he'd had more than enough recommendations proving his skills to get him a place in the highest tier of the royal guard –

Most king's guards had come from there, proving their worth and climbing the ladder as soon as the opportunity arose. 

An opportunity, meaning – one of the former guards leaving the unit, due to death, illness, old age – didn't matter. Only 10 men were to be allowed to call themselves the king's guards at all times. 

And just as if it was destiny, a man had left the unit shortly after he'd joined the ranks of the royal guard –

And just as if it was a bad joke, someone else skipped all the usually necessary steps and became a king's guard just like that. Just by pure luck. Or something. He didn't know. Didn't want to know, at some point, the frustration having taken over him. How had this guy, who had indeed come from a poor family, made the jump from being but an apprentice to a blacksmith to one of the most respected – and skilled – group of men in the country?

He'd been livid, to say the least. 

And then, one day, this guy had had the audacity to come into the royal guards' quarters to ask if any of them wanted to train with him, get shown a few tricks. He, the peasant, the mere blacksmith apprentice, wanted to show actual knights tricks. 

He had quietly scoffed at himself and ignored the offer. If anything, it should be the other way around, right? Right. He could show that pretentious bastard a few tricks. 

Without noticing, his repeated scoffing seemed to have gotten to a volume where everyone around him had noticed it; including said pretentious bastard, who apparently found it amusing to be challenged, as he'd called it, and invited him to a friendly spar just outside on the training grounds.

As much as he didn't want to have anything to do with this, he couldn't help but be curious (or say no, for that matter). What kind of insane skill would that guy have, to just suddenly be above all of them? Maybe he actually was insanely talented? Or maybe –

He got the receipt for his overthinking when the guy quite literally kicked his butt after evading an attack. 

"You know," he had then said, with a small smirk all over his face, and the tip of his sword casually rested on his own shoulder, "war has no rules. You live or you die, and nobody's gonna ask how you did it. So, if playing dirty ultimately leads to protecting your people, I say do it." 

That had been stuck in his head for well over 2 years now. A knight openly advocating for foul tactics? Now, obviously, there was a point to his words – protecting the king and the kingdom was the top priority for any knight, and the means to accomplish that goal were only secondary. He got that part. But still –

Knights meant pride, they meant respect and honor, they simply didn't play dirty. 

Later, though, he'd learned, that this guy didn't only rely on playing dirty; he did have some technique, and an insane amount of strength truly befitting of a former blacksmith. And on top of that, he was just a genuinely nice guy – unlike most of the other king's guards, who, at some point, had all lost their heads in the clouds of fame and money. 

Over time he went from silently resenting the weird stranger to considering him almost a friend, someone people could look up to, someone who made him rethink what it meant to be a knight. 

And then –

Then he vanished. 

One day, just like that, he was gone, his things all packed and vanished with him. 

Now, as sad as it was losing an almost-friend, the most respectable person in the king's guard, as exciting it was to have yet another vacancy among the ranks of them –

An opportunity. 

An opportunity it was, and Oikawa would definitely take it. He would join the king's guard, he would take his friend's place, and he would be more than worthy.

That is, until he woke up a few days later and coughed up clods of blood, accompanied by a sharp pain stretching all the way from his lungs to his throat. This was surely just a simple cold, right? A little more severe than most, but still just a cold, right? 

Wrong. 

The doctors couldn't quite tell him what it was, what had caused him to have regular coughing fits resulting in even more bloody clods, but they all agreed on one thing –

He wouldn't be able to join the king's guard. Or stay in the royal guard. 

Or even just remain as a knight at all. 

He was to stay in bed and take things slow, for the rest of his life – which could very well end in a few weeks time, if he was unlucky. 

Hilarious, wasn't it? He would have laughed, if that didn't strain his lungs each time. He'd worked so hard, so tirelessly, to get to where he was and even higher and now this –

Giving up was easy. It was so, so nice and easy, to just let go, to let fate decide, to stop fighting, to stop trying – 

But he'd never been one to easily give up. His pride simply didn't allow it. He had to do something, anything, until he'd breathed his last breath and physically couldn't go on anymore, or he would die hating himself. 

Now, hope was a scarce resource for most. He was no exception to that; more often than not, he'd found himself crying and screaming in his bedroom at night, mad at both himself and another doctor who had once again been unable to either name his sickness or provide a cure. He was running out of options – and out of time, too – so he'd resorted to some lesser popular methods. 

Witches. 

An old woman in the outskirts of the city who was said to have magic powers had given him a potion that smelled mostly like urine with a little bit of death mixed into it; the only thing it had really done was make him heave every time he even thought of said bottle. 

A priest of some weird water religion had told him that sea water would purify his sins, and therefore, cure him of this disease – and had then attempted to drown him. 

He'd even come across a so-called "holy cow", that had healing powers according to the residents of a tiny mountain village near the country's border; having skin contact with the cow for one day and one night was said to cure all illnesses and the like, so that's what he did. Clung to it as if his life depended on it. Well – his life did depend on it, in a way. Alas, when he finally awoke from his long nap after going for one day and one night without sleep, the first thing he was greeted by was yet another coughing fit; yet another time his hand was covered in blood and his eyes were full of tears he could barely hold back thanks to all the pain in his chest. 

His time was running out; he was painfully aware of that. Every window he passed reminded him of just how sick he was by now – skin so pale he almost looked like a walking corpse, his eyes sunken in and with deep, dark shadows underneath. He'd lost a ton of weight in the past weeks, which didn't exactly help either. He was dying. He knew he was – but still, the only feeling he could really find in himself was anger. Anger that he'd never made it to the top, that he'd had to give up his dream, that destiny itself had made it its mission to bring him down. He was mad, and so, so sick and weak that he could barely walk any longer. He'd run out of food a few nights ago, when he'd gotten lost in these woods atop some mountain, with the castle barely visible in the far distance. That was it, he was done for. He would die here, all alone, with nothing to his name except missed opportunities and broken dreams. It was a real shame, was it not? He could have done great things, if only he never got sick. If only, if only –

\--

"Are you sure he's still alive? I mean, look at him. Looks pretty dead to me." 

A quiet voice; then, the feeling of someone poking him with something long and thin, like a tree branch. 

"I am sure. He's breathing. And moving, too, see –" 

A second, unfamiliar voice, and a few gentle slaps on his cheek. 

He mustered all his strength to open his eyes and identify the owners of the voices, but the face that greeted him was just as unfamiliar. Handsome, yes, with a small nose and slanted eyes that seemed to glow in a deep blue; but still one he'd never seen before. "Who –" he managed to press out, voice all croaked, and was promptly interrupted by a few dry coughs, as usual accompanied by some blood. 

"Ooh. Yeah, definitely alive, that one. Barely." The other voice again, a bit louder now; somehow, it felt kind of familiar. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, identify where he'd heard it before until the owner of the voice appeared in his field of view –

"Ser Bokuto?!" 

It sounded almost like the screech of a scared bunny; high and loud and utterly confused. This was – Bokuto, right? He would recognize that hair anywhere. But what was he doing here? And what had happened to his arm? 

Oikawa was about to open his mouth to speak again, but Bokuto was faster. 

"Uh, do I know you?" He scratched his head, one eyebrow perked up in curiosity, and Oikawa almost felt offended. 

"I'm –" he started, ready to yell at him, listing all his titles and accomplishments, when the other guy interfered. 

"You can discuss that later. Here, drink this."

He felt the cool liquid on his lips and immediately forgot how offended he was, instead gulping down the cold water as if he hadn't had anything to drink in a week. 

Well, maybe he hadn't. He couldn't remember. 

When the cup was finally empty, and he had caught his breath again, his gaze turned back to Bokuto. 

"I'm Oikawa. From the royal guard? We've trained together a few times. Talked and stuff." 

Something in Bokuto's head visibly clicked. "Oh, yeah, I remember! Damn, you look like shit." 

"Gee, thanks." He managed a wry smile. "'s what happens when you're about to die."

"About to die?" Akaashi blinked, a slightly concerned frown on his face. 

"Well, you see, I'm sick. No doctor can tell me what it is I'm sick with, nor can they heal it. I've tried everything, from weird potions, to meditating, to touching holy cows and praying to God for hours on end, but as you can see –" He sighed, gesturing at himself. He indeed was looking like shit – like he was about to die. 

Now it was Akaashi that was giving him a wry smile. "God can't hear you, I'm afraid." 

He sighed, and Oikawa couldn't help but notice the way he'd mockingly emphasized the word 'God' – 

"But I can –" 

Before Akaashi could finish his sentence, Bokuto grabbed his shoulder, a deep wrinkle between his furrowed brows. "Akaashi, don't." 

"But I can't just let him die, now can I?" 

"Well, no, but –" 

"Koutarou, please." 

Bokuto's eyes grew wide upon hearing that name out of Akaashi's mouth; and suddenly he got all fiddly and nervous and was he blushing? 

Whatever it was, he didn't seem in any mood to further object, and Akaashi let out a small satisfied sigh. "I can help you. It does have a price, though. Are you willing to pay whatever it takes?" 

Oikawa blinked. 

Wait, what? 

He could help him? How, exactly? And what price? He didn't exactly have any money on him –

He took a look around, and suddenly it hit him. A remote hut in the woods, weird runes all over the trees, some kind of skull on this guy's head? 

He was –

He was a shaman, wasn't he? Oikawa felt kind of dumb for not noticing before. Then again, he was kind of busy trying to stay alive right now. 

"I mean, uh, sure. What's the price? I don't have money if that's what you're asking for, though." 

"Nah," Bokuto found his voice again, "it's probably gonna take, like, your dignity. Or your firstborn. Whichever is more important to you." 

Oikawa squinted at him. Why did he seem so pissed off? Wasn't this the guy that had once told him that dignity was worth shit if it couldn't protect the people you swore to protect? And what good would his dignity do him if he died? Yeah, right. 

And he could gladly have his firstborn, if Oikawa ever happened to fall onto a girl with his pants down. 

"Don't say stuff like that," Akaashi just mumbled, not seeming all too intent on really stopping him. He didn't look happy about this either, but Oikawa could see in his eyes that he felt bad for him; that he just wanted to help. 

And Oikawa wanted to live. No matter what. 

"I don't care. I'll pay whatever the price is." He nodded, and Akaashi did, too. Then he got up and left for the hut, leaving him and Bokuto behind. 

"You know, you might regret it." 

Oikawa sighed. "I'm dying, didn't you listen? What could be more important than my life?" He frowned at Bokuto, who just looked at him with this weird, gloomy expression on his face. "Is that – is that how you lost your arm?" What on earth was it that he could have wanted that would cost an arm? 

"Yeah." Bokuto shrugged. "I wanted to get rid of some curse, and my sword arm was the price I had to pay for that." 

"Cursed?" Oikawa blinked. "I always thought you're blessed, not cursed." He looked at Bokuto, but didn't get any answer. Maybe he didn't want to talk about it; maybe he did regret it. 

Oikawa decided not to ask. As much as he wanted to know the entire story, he could also tell that this seemed to be a touchy subject, and he didn't want to intrude. 

A quiet sigh escaped him as he stared into the flames. He was so, so tired; of being sick, of trying to find a cure, of finding hope and then losing it again over and over. This would be the last time – his last chance. Though it wasn't like he had the strength to go on any longer even if he wanted to; he could feel death knocking at the door at any waking second. It was a weird feeling, and one he didn't expect he would have to experience so soon. 

A creaking sound pulled him out of his thoughts; he looked up to find Akaashi standing in the door, face pale and expression a little pained. Oikawa was immediately overwhelmed with panic. Did he change his mind? Did he decide against trying to help after all? Or –

"The price you will have to pay," Akaashi's voice resounded in his ears, "is your pride." 

Oikawa blinked. His pride? He threw Bokuto a confused look, who just shrugged in return. 

"That weird Lord of his likes to talk in metaphors. Pride, as in, I don't know – your dick or something. Something you're proud of, probably. I think." 

Akaashi sighed, deep and loud and exhausted, though Oikawa couldn't tell if it was due to whatever he'd done inside that room or because of Bokuto – he assumed both, honestly. Metaphors? Sure, but that would be just tasteless. 

"Fine, I guess. Whatever that means." He nodded and took a deep breath. "So? What are we gonna do? Is this gonna be some ritual or do I just pray for a few more hours or something?" 

"You'll see." He shot Bokuto a glance, who got up with a sigh and started clearing the space around the bonfire. For a brief second, Oikawa wanted to get up and help, but Akaashi quickly pushed him down onto the ground again. "You shouldn't stress your body even further. Just stay there, we'll handle this." 

Oikawa frowned, but didn't object. He felt tired and his entire body hurt as if a horse had run him over; he wasn't entirely sure his legs would even carry him anymore anyways. 

"Alright, I'll start," Akaashi informed him a minute later, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. Oikawa watched him for a second, listened as the forest grew silent and the flames in front of him turned to icy breezes crawling along his skin. 

He shuddered; it was cold, now that the heat of the fire had vanished, even though the flames in front of him were still perfectly fine, dancing around and flickering every so often. He felt every movement – closing his eyes, he concentrated on the weird sensation, the feeling of a cold breeze climbing up his legs to his torso, almost as if it were hands exploring his body. It was creepy in a way, and the sounds around him didn't help either, but for some reason it also felt – nice. Like a fresh breeze and the smell of snow, like the first winds of winter had just hit his face as he inhaled, and the seemingly cold air filled his lungs. And it filled them fully; he inhaled deeply, enjoying it for a second, before slowly exhaling. 

This was it. This was what it felt like to be alive again. He almost couldn't help but smile when he took another deep breath, and didn't cough – again. And then again, and again, and not once did a sharp pain interrupt him; there were no coughs, no blood, no – death. 

Slowly, the cold air seemed to escape his body again, crawling out just like it had made its way in, almost tickling his skin on its way up and then –

A loud cry escaped him. For a split second, his face had felt like burning, just for a moment, before the pain had vanished again. The echo of it was still lingering on his skin, and with shaky hands he tried wiping the feeling off. 

"M – My face?" He blinked; whatever his fingers touched, it didn't feel like a face. "What happened to it?" With wide eyes, he looked up at Akaashi, who was staring at him equally as shocked, shoulders pulled up and arms wrapped around himself as if he wanted to protect himself. "What happened?!" he asked again, louder this time, now turning to Bokuto –

"I'm sorry." A sigh escaped Bokuto's lips, perfectly accentuating the deep, worried frown on his face. He shook his head and opened his mouth again, seemingly struggling to find the right words, before he just repeated, "I'm – I'm sorry." 

Oikawa just stared. He was sorry? What for? What was wrong with his face? Why couldn't they just tell him –

He gathered all the strength he had left and got up, staggering a bit on his still weakened legs, before he made his way hastily inside the hut. His eyes searched the room frantically, for something, anything that could serve as a mirror, that could provide some answers – 

A small mirror with a wooden frame caught his eyes; he grabbed it, ignoring all the little pots and bowls he wiped off the table in the process. Without hesitating, he looked into it –

His face looked swollen, covered in dark red scars that looked as if a bear had attacked him and the scars were just freshly healed. His right eyebrow was gone, replaced by a patch of what almost looked like scales and that was halfway covering his eye. Some hair was missing just above his ear on the same side – along with half his ear – and his upper lip was cracked in half where the scar ran across his skin.

His entire body tensed up as he screamed. 

\--

"How do you feel?" 

Oikawa looked up to find Akaashi handing him a bowl of some kind of soup; they'd been nursing him back to health for the past five days after he'd passed out from the shock, and his strength was slowly coming back now. Physically he felt ready to leave – to go back to the city and back to the royal guard, to continue his training, but –

God, he looked awful. He had tried staring at his reflection, over and over and over again, hoping he would get used to it, that once he got over the fact that his beauty was gone he would see that it really wasn't that bad, but – how could he? He looked like a monster.

Sometimes, especially at night, he caught himself getting mad at Akaashi for doing this to him; mad at Bokuto, too, for not stopping him when he knew what might happen. But then again, his life was worth more than his face, right? Nothing was worth more than your life. That's what he'd told them. Those had been his own words. 

Well. 

"Oikawa?" 

He blinked. "Uh, yes?" 

"I asked how you're feeling." Akaashi frowned, and sat down next to him. "Do you – I mean, is it better? At least a bit?" 

Oikawa could tell he was uncomfortable; he had his shoulders pulled up and arms wrapped around himself, just like after the ritual. He could tell Akaashi felt bad, that he felt it was his fault, but behind all his anger and sadness, Oikawa was well aware that none of this was really anyone's fault. 

"I guess." He shrugged, trying himself at a smile. He didn't want to show how miserable he really was – it wasn't like they could do anything about it – except maybe do another of those rituals, but what would that damn God take from him next? His own free will? Probably something like that. 

No, thanks. 

If this was how he had to live his life from now on, he would gladly take the challenge. 

"I think I should leave." He took a deep breath. That was a thing he liked to do a lot lately; it felt nice finally being able to once again. It reminded him that the price he had paid was nothing compared to what he had gained. "Yeah, I really should." 

With a small nod, he got up, putting the bowl back into Akaashi's hands without having eaten a single bite. 

"What, now?" Akaashi asked, a bit confused about the sudden change of tone. "Don't you want to at least eat first?" 

"No," Oikawa swiftly replied, already busy gathering all his things. It wasn't like he'd had a lot on him when he'd ended up here, but luckily Akaashi and Bokuto had provided him with some essentials. "If I don't leave right now, I'll change my mind and cry for another day. Or 8 days. Dunno, gotta go!" He nodded, and grinned at Akaashi – a small, yet genuine grin, one that probably looked grotesque, but felt all the better. 

He wouldn't let some stupid scars ruin his life. He wouldn't give up just because things got a bit harder. He would fight and struggle and ultimately reach his goals. 

"Oh," Bokuto let out, who was just coming back from his daily morning business in the woods. "Man, I'm glad you feel better. But you know, I got something that'll make your day even more!" He nodded, eyes big and full of excitement; like a little kid, almost. "What am I saying, it'll make your entire year! Life, even! Wait here!" 

With that, Bokuto disappeared; some rumbling could be heard from inside the hut, things falling over, him knocking his head on something, some swearing – and then he emerged again. "This," he started, still a big grin on his face, and a sword in his hand, "is my beloved sword. It's made out of the best materials, by one of the best weapon smiths ever – namely me, heh – and it has helped me defeat some of the strongest fighters in this country." He nodded enthusiastically, before shoving the sword against Oikawa's chest. "Take it! It's yours now." 

Oikawa looked at it in awe, almost not daring to even touch it – he'd had a chance to look at it before, and it truly was a fine sword – but when Bokuto encouraged him again, he finally took it. His fingers gently brushed over the hilt; he could tell it was well-used, seeing as there were marks of Bokuto's hands all over it, but that just made it better. He pulled it out of the sheath for a moment to look at the blade – it was still perfectly sharp, just as he would have expected. 

"You like it? It's a great sword, huh? Promise me you'll take good care of it, yeah?" 

Oikawa smiled, and pushed the sword back into its sheath. "I promise." He nodded, and looked at Bokuto – and then just hugged him, as tight as he could. "Thank you. For everything." He felt a few motivational pats on the back, before he let go and now pulled Akaashi closer. "You, too. You saved my life, don't ever forget that." 

For a second, Akaashi just stood there, stiff and shocked, but then he finally relaxed. "Yeah," he mumbled softly, finally somewhat at peace. "I'm glad to have met you, Oikawa."


End file.
